


The Man Makes the Man

by Perpetual Motion (perpetfic)



Category: Cable and Deadpool
Genre: M/M, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-21 20:59:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1563860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perpetfic/pseuds/Perpetual%20Motion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One of those nights where Wade hates himself a little. Nate is determined to help, but words aren't really his thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Man Makes the Man

**Author's Note:**

> Self-beated because writing them in 616 makes me a wee bit nervous, so I figured better to clean it up myself and put it out there rather than chicken out.

They’re mostly naked, blankets kicked to the end of the bed. Nate’s still wearing his left sock, and Wade’s down to his mask. Nate toes off his sock and trails his hands up Wade’s chest, fingers bumping and catching all over Wade’s scars. Wade doesn’t say anything, but Nate sees the way his hands press flat on the sheets. Wade is, by nature, a grabby sort of guy. Flat hands means he’s uncomfortable, like he doesn’t want to have purchase.

Nate leans down, hands running down Wade’s arms now, and he kisses Wade through the mask. “Up or down?” he asks, and he noses along the edge of Wade’s collarbones, just below where the mask ends. Wade sucks in a breath, and his fingers curl just a little.

“Up,” Wade says, “but not off.”

Nate catches the edge of the mask between his teeth and pulls it up Wade’s neck, over his chin, and chuckles when he actually manages to let go so it drapes over the bridge of Wade’s nose. “Didn’t think that’d work.” 

“Do that with a zipper, and I’ll be impressed,” Wade says.

Nate kisses him to shut him up and also to kiss him. He licks against Wade’s lips, but Wade doesn’t open up enough for Nate to get his tongue in. Usually, he’s open-mouthed from the start, sucking on Nate’s tongue as he drags his nails down his back, but every now and again, they have nights like this. Nights where Wade won’t say it, but Nate knows he’s thinking of how he looks, of how many people he scares and grosses out when he takes off his mask.

Nate pulls away from the kiss as he curls his hands over Wade’s wrists and lifts Wade’s arms so they’re over his head on the pillows. “Okay?”

Wade rolls his shoulders and adjusts how his arms are laying. Two hours ago, he’d dug a bullet out of his left forearm, and Nate figures the microscopic bits are still healing. “Okay,” Wade says once his left arm is settled a little further down the pillow than his right.

Nate leans over and kisses Wade’s left forearm close to where the bullet hit. He holds there for a few seconds, then starts hunting up all the scar-shapes that are just big enough to kiss in the center. There’s one on Wade’s shoulder, numerous ones on his torso, three on the inside of his left thigh, and one on the sole of his right foot. Wade twists and curls his toes when Nate gets to that one, and Nate grins and turns the foot in his hand so he can bite lightly at Wade’s heel. Wade kicks him in the ribs with his other foot, but he kicks the metal side, so it doesn’t hurt.

“Okay?” Nate asks as he crawls between Wade’s thighs, pressing his thumb to every scar-space that will fit it like he’s leaving a perfect set of fingerprints. 

“Okay,” Wade says.

Nate takes his left hand and presses it against Wade’s side. 

“I did not okay temperature play!” Wade yells. “Your hand if fucking freezing!”

“Whoops,” Nate says, and he grins when Wade tries to kick him. He catches him by the ankle, and Wade yelps again. Nate quiets him down by diving in for a kiss, and this time Wade opens his mouth and sucks on Nate’s tongue, and Nate traces the scars on Wade’s soft palette while he wraps Wade’s leg around him and curls his other hand around Wade’s dick.

“And now, for the main event,” Wade mumbles as Nate pulls away again.

“Almost,” Nate says because he’s not trying to make Wade come, not yet. He keeps his movements slow, his grip slightly loose. He follows a scar from Wade’s cheek down to his neck and down to his chest. When it veers off into three options, he goes to the right, then down again, then up a little. 

“Stop,” Wade says. It’s half-hearted, and he’s blushing, and Nate stops right away. He doesn’t want to embarrass Wade, doesn’t want to make him feel more uncomfortable.

He tightens his grip and speeds up his stroke, and when he leans down to kiss Wade again, he opens his hand to take his own dick as well, and he rubs them together, biting the edge of Wade’s earlobe as the friction makes his push down hard with his hips. “No one else can do this to me, Wade,” he says. “No one else.”

“Plenty of people can get you off.”

“Not like you,” Nate says, and he lifts his left hand to cup the top of Wade’s head. “Never like you.”

Wade’s hands curl tight, and Nate reaches up with his left hand and holds Wade’s right hand down as the left wraps around his neck and Wade pulls him in so close their noses slam together. “Say it again, “ Wade says, and he groans as Nate thrusts harder against him and tightens his grip the tiniest bit more.

“No one else can make me feel like this,” Nate says. “No one else. Not like you. “

“Why not?” Wade asks.

Nate has to catch his breath before he can answer. He’s so close he can feel the shiver of it coming up his spine, but he holds back. He won’t let Wade accuse him of saying things because he just got laid. “No one feels like you,” Nate says. “No one makes me feel like you do.”

“And how do I make you feel?” Wade asks. He curls his left hand into Nate’s hair, and his right hand grips hard at Nate’s side. 

“Fucking fantastic,” Nate says, which is less eloquent than he was planning to be, but his orgasm is taking no arguments, and all he can do is suck at Wade’s shoulder and rock his hips as he comes. He manages to keep jerking them both off as it happens, and Wade follows a few seconds later, the hand in Nate’s hair tightening so it’s almost painful in the best way. 

“Clean up in aisle two,” Wade says.

“You think you’re so funny,” Nate replies. He lets go of Wade’s wrist and brings up his other hand so he can rest on his forearms and be nose-to-nose with Wade as they catch their breath. 

Wade reaches up and pulls off his mask. He’s got little tufts of hair this week, Nate sees, and they’re all plastered to his head. “If you can’t be handsome, at least you should be funny,” he says.

“Misquote,” Nate says.

Wade doesn’t argue, and Nate doesn’t elaborate. When Nate heaves himself to one side to flop on his back, Wade rolls to him and curls up like they’re in a romance novel, head on Nate’s chest, arm around Nate’s waist, one leg thrown over Nate’s legs. Nate completes the picture by wrapping his arm around Wade's shoulders and kissing him on top of the head. 

“I meant it,” Nate says. “All of it.”

“It wasn’t a misquote,” Wade replies. “It was artistic license.”

Nate chuckles and pulls Wade half on top of him, Wade’s whole head and chest pressed against him. His scars will leave marks by the morning, Nate knows, and he wants them to. He wants Wade to wake up in the morning and see them in relief. See them on Nate’s body and maybe understand a little of the beauty and power of them. They’re unquestionably ugly, but every time Nate looks at them, all he sees is a man willing to do anything to stay alive, and when Wade jokes and smarts off, Nate hears a man desperate to keep living, and Nate wishes he were better with words so he could explain it to Wade so that Wade could understand the importance of it all. So much of Nate’s life has been spent just surviving, and Wade could have ended up like him—too serious by half and so often uncertain of his place in the world. But instead, he’s all energy and determination, smart as hell and quick witted. Unsure of himself at times, more than occasionally macabre, but in the same breath unrelenting in deciding who he is, and Nate envies that as much as he loves it.

Wade goes limp against him, and half a minute later he’s snoring like he’s swallowed a buzz saw. Nate falls asleep to the sound of it, to the press of Wade against his chest and figures waking up holding onto him is the best he can do, and maybe that’s okay.


End file.
